


Clarity

by OwlEspresso



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha Bokuto Koutarou, Alpha Kuroo Tetsurou, Alpha!Bokuto, Alpha!Kuroo, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Friendship, Multi, Romance, Threesome - F/M/M, Violence, omega!reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-03-28 00:48:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13892718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwlEspresso/pseuds/OwlEspresso
Summary: "Not gonna get attached." You tell yourself. The thrilled spectators roar around you when Bokuto Koutarou slams a spike through the enemy block, securing yet another point for his team. You see him smile wide when his team cheers for him. You see the joy in his eyes. You see the passion in his every movement and you don't think about the way it makes you feel all warm and tingly and dumb inside.





	1. The Pull of The Tides

**Author's Note:**

> I was inspired to make this by alkhale's story, [INSTINCT](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13464528/chapters/30867522)! It's really good, so check it out~
> 
> My writing blog is [HERE](https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/).

Omega.

A label you’ve come to associate with your greatest struggles. Since the tender age of eleven, your “nature” has been a mere burden on your shoulders. It’s lead in your lungs and frost on your decaying sanity. It’s the way a tower crumbles from the structure, enveloping everything around it in debris and old dust. When you got your results back, your peers smiled and said how “lucky” you were, but you knew what they truly thought about omegas. 

“Naturally submissive.”

“Housewives. Caretakers. Birthers.”

You knew that behind your back, they were joking about omegas as mindless objects, honoring the horrible stereotypes that would hold you back in the future. Your status creates constant social barriers, constant problems for you. You’ve been killed and they’re pissing on your ashes. 

Expectancies you never wanted were being shoved onto you, before you could comprehend what was happening. As soon as they caught wind of it, bullies were turning their attention to you and classmates in “superior” castes were mocking you. They wanted you to crumble, to fall to pieces underneath their attention because that’s what omegas are supposed to do, right? Your relatives ask you what type of alpha you like, as though that’s all you’re ever going to worry about. As though your problems are nonexistent. Because all you’re going to do is get married and become a housewife, right? They’re looking down and you and they don’t even know it. Because the idea of what an omega is supposed to be are so ingrained in society that it’s normal to them.

You’ll express your desire to be your own person and they’ll hold it against you. They’ll laugh and say “Sure, honey. You do that.” and when you actually do get somewhere, they’ll get mad at you for upsetting the norms they’ve grown so accustomed to. You will not let them ostracize you. No, you’re going to make all of your choices on your own. You’re deciding where your life really starts and by god, you’re going to decide when it ends. No one gets any say in what you do or what you feel. No one is going to hurt you. 

You’re not even going to let them try.

\---

Kenma Kozume is a beta. 

“That fits you.” Most people said. He agreed. He still does.

He rarely thinks about natures and hormones. Doesn’t pay mind to relationships. He keeps up with his studies and his nimble fingers complete complicated button combos. His mind runs simulations when he’s playing volleyball, no possibility outlawed, no outcome unconsidered. It’s comforting, to know that he’s in control of what happens on the court. Because he doesn’t have that type of power in most other situations. Like the one he’s in, right now.

It’s a perfectly cliche situation. His back is to a damp, brick wall and the two, bulky alphas in front of him have their hands in their pockets. They loom over him, both at least above 190 centimeters. They’re wearing grins, trying to coax him, but he knows that something terrible is probably about to happen.

“So, like we were saying, that game of yours looks pretty expensive.” One drawls, expression curling into a sneer. Ah, Kenma gets it. They’re going to take his handheld and probably some of his other, more valuable items. He would really like to just tell them to “get it over with” but that might aggravate them. And he really doesn’t want to take any risks, here. So, he’ll wait for his turn. The other alpha, taller and with blond hair (poorly bleached), elbows his companion in the side. Kenma catches a metallic glimmer in the faint rays of sunlight and realizes that the blonde has multiple piercings in his right eat. It’s good to know, in case he has to give the police their descriptions, later.

“No point in beating around the bush. Just give it to us, kid.” The blond growls, voice lower than his companion’s. Kenma really wants to panic, but he somehow, he can’t. It’s like his mind is separated from his body. He’s only capable of giving numb, slight reactions. Resisting them while there are no witnesses wouldn’t be a good idea. There’s no guarantee that anyone will witness what they decide to do with him. There’s no guarantee that they won’t beat him up if he decides to resist. So, he slides his red bag off of his shoulder and begins to burrow through it, searching for the system and hoping they won’t ask him for anyone else. “What else you got in there?” He flinches as the blond looms closer. Again, he catches a metallic glint out of the corner of his eyes. 

This time, it’s not from the blond’s multiple earrings. It’s further back and he can’t track it or get a detailed look. The alpha looming over him is reaching forward, aiming to grab onto his bag. 

There’s a soft whooshing noise, and the sound of a blunt object against a skull. The dark-haired alpha gives a pained hollar, and Kenma can barely see him crumple to the ground before the blonde is turning around, scent growing wild with aggression. A smaller individual stands mere yards away, body halfway illuminated by the lowering sun. She’s smaller in stature than he is, but her eyes are wild and her expression holds a vicious kind of emotion. It’s the kind of look he’s only caught glimpses of in the past, during random fights he’s happened to witness around school or in town. She clutches a metal pipe in her right hand, blood splattered along it’s shimmering surface. 

“Dammit—” The blonde snarls, clearly not expecting witnesses. His enraged eyes dart from Kenma to the small woman further down the alley. Sirens echo in the distance, indicating that the police have likely been called. “You’ll regret this!” He promises, venomous. He scrambles forward and has to crouch down in order to pick up his friend. From where Kenma is, it looks like he’s bowing. She lets him scoop his accomplice into his arms and make a hasty escape down the alley, tracking their movements, making sure they’re gone before she turns to him.

He wants to speak up, thank her, ask for her name, anything. But he doesn’t get that chance. Because blue uniforms are swarming the alleyway, sweeping you up and heading towards him. The sirens are at the end of the alley. He can see the shimmering lights and hear an army of footsteps heading in his direction. The pipe he saw you clutching has been neatly tucked away somewhere on your person. Like it never existed at all. The police talk in his ears but all he can do is look at you and notice the fear in your eyes and in your posture, the terror in your scent. Your shoulders are trembling and your eyes are tearing up.

You didn’t look like that moments ago. But your scent urges him towards you, his instincts telling him to console and comfort. The reality of what is happening suddenly hits him.

You’re an omega. You’re using the perception of your caste as weak and emotional to your advantage. And you’re doing it fantastically. There’s a brilliant piece of performance art happening in front of them and he’s the only one who understands it. He sees the men and women in uniforms pat your back and console you, and realizes that you’re going to be fine. Only when a policeman gently tugs on his shoulder does he finally respond to the barrage of questions he’s being asked.

The sun catches the back of your coat before you vanish into the crowd of officers. Kenma resolves to ask the police for your name.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to AwesomeEatsYou, CharaCloud, nanachu, Celiasoti, freshmint, Abdabx, and an anon named Dot for leaving comments.
> 
> My link to my writing blog is below:
> 
> My writing blog is [HERE](https://owlespresso/).

Every now and then, when you close your eyes, you see faint fragments of the past. Last night, on your way home, you saw the doctors smiling at you and congratulating you when you received your diagnosis as an omega. You were eleven. Or twelve. That was seven years ago, but it’s still pretty vivid in your head. You don’t even remember what time it was, last night. You talked to the police about the assault that happened, went through some hysterics to convince them that you were only a witness, and asked about the kid that got attacked. You can’t really remember too much of what he looked like. But that doesn’t really matter to you.

What does matter is the vending machine that’s withholding your bag of chips from you. You really hate waking up in the morning and you hate taking the subway to your college, but they’re all necessary evils. Because life is pay-to-play and in order to get a well-paying job, you need to get an education. No matter how much it makes you feel like driving a stake through your skull. You hate the smog of scents that cloud you whenever you get into one of the cars. You hate a lot of things, really. So you try to make everything worth it by treating yourself every now and then.

The vending machine, nestled next to the entrance of one of the local high schools, doesn’t seem to think you deserve the snack you paid for with your hard-earned change. The crinkled plastic package is pressed up against the glass, taunting you. You’ve tapped it twice, now. You have ten minutes to get to class and it’s a five minute walk to campus. You reckon you can figure this out in a calm, orderly fashion. 

But really, why would you?

You have feet that you can use for kicking. That in itself is reason enough to kick things. Maybe it’s your anger making you irrational or your unusual lust for the destruction of public property. Your feet kick against the machine, steel-toed boots leaving scratches and marks as passerby (likely students) give you weird looks. The sound of metal against metal rings out in the nearby street as you beat the machine to the best of your ability, causing it to shake. 

Fuck you! Crappy fucking ass machine!! Give it to me!

It’s a pretty good way to get your anger out before class. Usually you settle for crying in the shower, but you woke up a little too late for that.

Fucking alarm clock! Fuck! Fuck!

A hand on your shoulder jolts you out of the red haze of anger that’s overtaken you. You jump, eyes wide as you whirl around to face a young man who’s wearing a pretty shocked expression. He looks pretty silly, with his wide eyes and raised eyebrows. You’d poke a fun at him, but it’s pretty brave of him to march up to someone so destructive and angry. People are scared of what they don’t understand or don’t know, so you don’t often get approached when you pull stunts like this. You’re taking suppressants, but the scent of your anger is so potent that passerby can likely detect it. Maybe that’s why. Though, you’re pretty sure you’ve seen this guy before…

“Oh!” The realization hits you, “You’re that little guy that was getting mugged yesterday, right?” Looking at him now, “little guy” isn’t really the correct term to use. He’s not the tallest person around, but he towers over you nonetheless. Still, he looked pretty little when he was crouched on the ground, expression painted pale with fear. “You doing alright?” From the uniform, you guess he’s a student at the school the vending machine is next to. 

“Yeah…” He doesn’t seem much for conversation. Not that you can blame him. You cross your arms and regard him with a sharp stare. As much as you’d like to stick around and play nice, you really can’t afford to waste time. “Thank you… for that. I hope you’re alright.” He’s cute, though? His hair is long, worn in a messily tied bun with some strands still hanging out. His widdle sweater vest is so cute, too!

“I’m fine. It’s not the first time I’ve had to use some elbow grease,” You declare, leaning up against the damaged machine. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He answers, and promptly goes quiet. You two stand there and stare at each other. You wonder why he isn’t walking away. That’s usually what people do after ending a conversation, but he doesn’t seem to be the most socially apt person. Does he want something else? “What are you... doing?”

“Huh?” You raise your eyebrows, expression irritated. It sounds like he’s challenging you, even though he’s been nothing but polite this entire conversation. All it takes is for him to gesture to the machine for you to realize what he means. “My chips wouldn’t come out. I got mad.” It doesn’t really justify the damage, but you’re too tired to properly reason.

“Oh.” You’re about to tell him to screw off and stop wasting your time, but he takes a broad step towards you. That alone has you bristling, eyes wide and expression curled into a snarl. His sudden closeness combined with the way he looms over you isn’t doing him any favors, either. You’d say he means no harm, but you’ve just met this kid and know not to judge a book by its cover. The sudden change in your scent makes him recoil. You certainly don’t like being an omega, but it has its perks. Alphas and betas always get a little shaken whenever you give a strong, distressed scent. It’s useful when you need to defend yourself. “Sorry. I was going to buy something.” 

Oh. Well, now you feel a little silly for jumping to conclusions. Pride damaged, you shuffle out of the way and watch him slide a crisp bill into the machine, his nimble fingers pressing the buttons… He buys the exact same chips you wanted and you want to smite him for doing it right in front of you. It feels like he’s gloating, feels really damn smug of him. You ready a scathing remark (inwardly gloating about how you’re gonna verbally eviscerate this guy) as he bends down to grab the two bags of chips. But he turns to you and holds them out, rendering you silent. You blink, dumbfounded.

Oh. Now you feel even more silly. What the fuck.

“Thank you…?” People don’t do really nice things for you often, and that shows in your reply. He nods and turns to walk off, but you reach out and grab his sleeve, prompting him to look back at you, “What’s your name? Can I see you again?”

Not the smoothest way to start off. You’re not really interested in dating, but you want to get to know the kid (who is probably only a year younger than you are) and maybe become friends. Really. How are you supposed to phrase this kind of thing? Asking for contact information is always awkward and the awkwardness is stifling. It kills your vibes. Ruins your groove.

“Hey. I thought you were just a weird kid a few seconds ago, but I’m going to need your name and your phone number. Right now.” Is what you would say if you were being completely honest. But that just doesn’t work! Not at all!

“Sure. My name is Kozume Kenma…” He sifts through his pockets until he withdraws a sleek smartphone. Relief washes over you. At least he doesn’t think I’m a fucking weirdo. You fetch your own phone and hastily introduce yourself, realizing that you’ve spent four of your ten minutes talking to him. After exchanging numbers, you say a hurried goodbye and dash down the street, only hoping that no one called the cops on you for breaking the vending machine next to Nekoma Academy.

\--------

Kenma Kozume is a third year at Nekoma Academy, you soon find out. Much to your surprise, he sends the first text. You get it as you’re on the subway ride home. 

Hi.

He’s not much of a talker. You don’t mind. You spent the next half-hour having a semi-active conversation with him, learning that he likes video games and plays on the volleyball team. He learns that you attend one of the colleges close to Nekoma, but doesn’t get much else out of you. You ask him if he wants to hang out tomorrow. He agrees.

It’s a week later and you’ve learned several more things about your new friend. You’ve hung out a few times and he’s gotten more talkative. He’s a low energy guy, but that works out pretty well for you. You don’t really like really energetic people. They’re draining to deal with.

You learn that he has a friend who attends the same college as you and is on the volleyball team. Kuroo Tetsurou. The name sounds familiar but you’ve never met him. You think it over as you sit on a bench outside of a fancy restaurant, waiting for Kenma to show up. It’ll probably be another trip to the arcade, but you don’t mind that. 

You busy yourself with your phone, playing Neko Atsume and checking on various social apps. It’s rare of you to make friends so easily, even though you’re not sure if you can call Kenma a friend or not. But you don’t really hang out with people outside of school. Sure, you get along alright with classmates, but you don’t have anyone close to you. It’s kind of a downer. But you’re busy and you have things to do. It’s also difficult for you to really trust betas and alphas, given the assumptions people usually make about you because of your diagnosis.

You refer to being an omega as a diagnosis, because that’s all it is to you. A disease. Something that’s always dragged you down and held you back.

“Hey.” Kenma’s quiet voice breaks you from your negative thoughts. 

“Hiya!” You pop up from your seat and give him a meager smile, “Ready to go? You wanted to head to one of the arcades, right?” He nods, and your destination is set. The arcade isn’t too far away. In fact, it’s pretty close to Nekoma. The walk is short, so it’s not too bad. 

“So, did you see that new trailer for Super Smash Bros?” You inquire. It’s only been a week but you’ve learned that small talk doesn’t really get you anywhere. 

The short walk to the arcade is spent talking about video gaming news and brief details about Kuroo Tetsurou. It’s not too much, but Kenma mentions him in brief instances pretty often. The streets aren’t too crowded, much to your relief. Bustling, metropolitan areas kind of suck when you’re trying to get somewhere fast. The arcade is only a block away, but it’s come to be a familiar site to you. Kenma’s eyes light up as the two of you enter, and you think it’s kind of cute. He always gets so excited when he sees something he likes, no matter how many times he’s seen it before. This type of enthusiasm is rare from him, so you don’t remark on it, knowing he might get self-conscious.

Yeah, you’re pretty good at reading people. 

“Oh. I should go to the ATM,” Most of the machines have coin slots. You’ve come prepared for that, but it appears Kenma hasn’t.

“I’ll wait over here. Take your time.” You assure him, and he scampers off, leaving you to your own devices. 

You sweep your gaze across the dimmed area, roaming over the fluorescent screens and listening the beeps and artificial noises that the machines make. It’s a Friday afternoon, so it’s starting to get crowded. Students from various schools often come here after classes, because it’s so close and also pretty big. 

“Hey, are you here alone?” A masculine voice rings out, prompting you to look up. There’s a tall guy in front of you, and you immediately don’t like the looks of him. He wears a smile that’s bordering on smug and is much too close to you, forcing you to take in his scent and acknowledge his presence.

“No.” Is all you say in response, hoping he’ll get the clue and leave you be. 

“Really? What a shame,” He drawls. “Bet I could show you a better time than anyone else you’re here with, sweetheart.” Why do guys think that calling you demeaning petnames will help convince you? Great. You called me sweetheart. I’m totally into you, now. His languid remark is enough to piss you off. Your temper is usually pretty short when it comes to things like this.

“Leave me alone.” You don’t waste any time trying to debate it with him. His eyebrows furrow in an aggravated manner. Alphas usually get pretty pissed when you tell them that you’re not obligated to pay attention to them. It’s that gross sense of entitlement that really irritates you.

“C’mon, don’t be like that. We could have a good time,” It’s not like he’s said anything directly insulting to you, but he reaches out as he says that and you find that your patience has run out. Your hand snaps onto his wrist and you slip behind him with a nimble step, twisting his hand and arm back at a ridiculously uncomfortable angle, “What the hell!? C’mon, I was just talking to you! All you omegas are so sensitive—” Your grip tightens and you pull, letting him know that you can hurt him even more, “Ow! Ow! Okay, okay!” He snaps and you let him go. He stumbles backwards, regarding you with a venomous glare.

Now, there are eyes on you. Other passerby are watching the interaction with rapt attention. Multiple people have fixed their disapproving gazes on the alpha in front of you, letting you (and him) know that there will be consequences if he takes further action. You despise the stereotyping of omegas as weak, but you know that it’s a useful tool when in situations such as these. He skulks backwards, rubbing his wrist and muttering derogatory comments about you underneath his breath.

A faint murmur of your name draws your attention and you turn around to see Kenma. His hands are in his pockets and his gaze is stuck to the floor. His posture is stiff and his shoulders are rigid. He looks uncomfortable, likely having witnessed the entire exchange.

“Sorry.” He speaks before you get the chance to. “I should have stepped in.”

He’s a sweet kid, behind all that awkwardness. You shake your head with a small smile.

“It’s alright, Kenma. I don’t mind,” You soothe and his shoulders relax. You’re glad that he believes you when you try to comfort him. He’s reserved, but emotionally open in ways that you sealed off years ago, “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” He probably has a natural urge to want to help you, one that’s wired into his DNA. But humankind has come far from the backwards species they once were. They have a far way to go. But that doesn’t change the fact that you can handle yourself. You have pepper spray in your pockets and an iron pipe tucked into your jacket. The fact that you need to protect yourself to vigilantly is yet another reason that mankind has a long way to go before they’re a perfect species. 

Still, you’re allowed to take pride in yourself. Or the brief parts of yourself that you can actually stand.

You don’t need anyone to protect you. Or help you. You don’t need anyone. 

You’ve only known Kenma for a week and you know that you’d be stricken with horrible grief if he was somehow taken away from you. (And that scares you more than anything)

But you don’t need anyone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Gamerqypsy78, Celiasoti, freshmint, DominiqueLola, hokshi and an anon named Stella for commenting last chapter! You all really motivated me to complete this chapter! The end of the semester is usually an uphill battle for me, so writing can get really difficult.
> 
> Also, a big thank you to SabbyWrites, hokshi, BlueSimba, and ActuallyAndroid for beta-reading and helping me improve this chapter! They all have great content, so go check them out!
> 
> My writing blog is [here!](https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/)

Volleyball is fun. Up until last year, Kenma Kozume thought little of the sport he grew up playing. It was a means to an end. A way to pass the time. Of course, writing “been to nationals twice” on his transcript would boost his chances of getting into a good university. Colleges don’t just bat an eye to that kind of thing. A month ago, he didn’t consider telling you anything about the sport, thinking you might find it boring. Of course, you never brought it up in conversation. Until now, that is.

“So. I have a question about volleyball.,” You drag the heels of your boots along the dirt ground, seated on a swing in one of Tokyo’s many playgrounds. It’s late evening, so it’s pretty empty. Kenma doesn’t like to be roaming around late at night, but this is a safe area and one close to his house. And your apartment. He’ll probably wind up walking you home, but he doesn’t mind. He looks up from his phone, pausing the platformer game he had been so dedicated to, and raises his eyebrows at you, “During games, you guys call out names, right? Like who you’re gonna toss the ball to?”

“Ah, yeah. But a lot of teams use signals.” You kick off the ground and start to swing a little as he speaks, boots brushing up against the ground whenever you hit the lowest point. He doesn’t go into depth about signals. Every team usually has their own, anyways.

“Well, why don’t you just learn another language and do calls in that?” He squints at you. You give him a wide, sly grin and he tries not to smile back, hiding his face in his scarf as much as possible, “I mean, if you do calls in like… Dutch, then they won’t know what you’re saying, right? Is there a rule against that?” Growing bored of the swing, you come to a halt and stand up, leaning against the tree next to him. You lightly nudge him with your shoulder and smirk when he gives you a pointed look. It’s only been a month and Kenma is frighteningly used to your presence.

“You just started asking me about volleyball and you’re already looking for ways to cheat?” You scoff at his inquiry and cross your arms, twirling to stand in front of him.

“Not cheating! It’s a strategy! There’s no rule against it, right?”

“...”

“See!” You wave dismissively at him, as though he’s proven your point, “Anyways… I wanted to come to one of your games. Would that be good with you?” That startles him. You’ve expressed your distaste for sports multiple times, ranting about how ridiculous the physical education curriculum is. You’ve even told him that you refused to do more than one push-up on the fitness tests. “I talk shit about sports a lot, but it’s gonna be you playing. I watched some volleyball on TV the other day and it was kind of entertaining, I guess.” The sentiment makes a warm feeling swell in his chest.

“That’s good,” He hums, lowering his gaze back to the phone in his hands. He doesn’t know why you suddenly started to ask him about volleyball, but it’s nice of you to care about what he does and what he likes, even though he really doesn’t like talking about it. Sure, he plays the sport, but he’s probably not going to explain the rules that well, or anything. Kuroo could do better, probably. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, but it’s really the truth. “If you want to know more about it, you should talk to Kuroo. He goes to your school and is on the team. So does Bokuto. He’s Kuroo’s friend, but he was also a captain in high school.” Your cheeks puff up in a pout and you shoot him a glare which he pretends to not notice.

“I’m not that good at explaining,” he opts to clarify before you can scold him. Sure. He doesn’t like talking about it. But he’s not good at it, either, “They could do a better job. You could probably use more friends, too.”

“Kenma!” Your voice raises to a shrill pitch and you lightly tap him on the arm. He knows that you could do some real damage to him (he’s seen you hurt people before) but you never go far with him, no matter how aggravated you get. You seem to go out of your way to baby him. You’ve prevented him from tripping over his own two feet while on his phone several times. You bring him snacks when you hang out. You make sure he’s drinking enough water… You’re like Kuroo, but gentler. Not that Kuroo being hard-handed is a bad thing.

There’s no upset scent coming from you, either. So he knows that you’re not really offended.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, “but you should try to talk to them, anyways. I’m not as good as they are, at volleyball,” No matter how confident Kenma has gotten over the past year, there are still lingering doubts at the back of his mind. Anxiety sucks. But his kind of anxiety is quiet and doesn’t surface visibly. Sometimes it feels suffocating, though. Like everyone in the room is watching him and waiting for him to make a mistake. “I’m only the setter because the first year one isn’t as experienced, yet. But he’s also really talented.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, a concerned expression flashing across your face.

“No! You’re super talented!” You insist, “I mean! I haven’t been to one of your games but you’re already super smart! So you’re probably really good! You are really good!” You insist adamantly, in a more amped way than Kuroo usually does. It’s suddenly difficult to look you in the eyes, all of the sudden. His face heats up and he turns to look away. “But I’ll probably check out the team from my school, too. I wanna meet this ‘Kuroo’ you keep talking up like he’s some sort of modern god. He’d better be hot, Kenma. Or I’m asking for my money back!”

“You don’t pay me enough, as is.” He decides to go along with your joke.

By now, he’s realized that there are a lot of different sides to you. Most people are like that, but he’s never realized it until now. He can still remember the bloody pipe in your hand and the indescribable look in your eyes. He’s never seen a murderer before, but he imagines that’s what one would look like. But looking at you now, it’s hard to understand that you’re the same person. Your knuckles clench white on your weapon, but your hands are warm when they reach for him. You try to protect him.

How do you manage that? Being around you makes him happy, but sometimes, also scared. 

Still, it’s hard to suppress a smile when he’s around you. In a way that he’s never felt before. It’s kind of scary, but when it’s you, he doesn’t really mind.

\------

At Kenma’s advice, you decided to meet Kuroo and Bokuto after one of their Saturday games. He’s been kind enough to set up a… lunch date (?) for you with the two of them. It’ll be interesting to meet them, no doubt about it. But you had to be on guard. Alphas can be dangerous. While you hate being prejudiced, it’s hard to not be when most assaults on omegas are committed my alphas. Trusting other people is difficult in general. You’ll need to take your time with these guys. Observe carefully. Not make any mistakes.

The squeaking of sneakers against polished wood, the slamming of the ball against the floor, and the enthusiastic cheering of the spectators surrounds you. You arrived during the middle of the game, because not even god himself can make you sit through an entire match of any sport. At this point, it’s more stubbornness than anything else. 

But you manage to pick Bokuto out from the crowd immediately. Loud. Excited. Looks kind of like an owl. If anything, he seems to be the flashiest person on the court. He celebrates each hard-won point with an exuberant yell, high-fiving teammates. You don’t regularly watch volleyball, but you can tell he’s skilled. His spikes are powerful and precise.

Not to mention, he’s built as hell. He’s got some of the thickest thighs you’ve ever laid eyes on, and his jersey clings to his body in all the right ways. The guy is caked in muscle. An absolute unit. 

You find yourself kind of transfixed by watching him. He racks up about three points with serves alone, and is remarkably pleased about it, if his wide smile is anything to go by. They’re in the second set, halfway through it. While you watch, you’re not sure how much time goes by. You’ve tucked yourself against the wall, huddled in the bleachers with your eyes fixed on him, occasionally roaming over the other players. After landing a particularly difficult… cross (you think that’s the correct term, at least), Bokuto lifts his gaze up to the stands. His golden eyes land on your form, out of the many other spectators, and he flashes you a bright smile.

It’s only for a moment, but you feel your face grow warm. 

The rest of the match passes, with Bokuto spearheading a magnificent victory. You wait for the rest of the audience to slowly amble off of the stands, only standing to leave after most of them have cleared out. It’s easier to avoid the huge crowd. People suck and being cramped in between a big bunch of them isn’t on your to-do list, at all. Ever.

Besides, the two athletes you’ll be hanging out with will likely not be ready for a good few minutes, giving you ample time to get over to the locker room entrance. After exiting the gym, you take a sharp right, stopping once you reach the two doors that read “Men’s” and “Women’s”. You can hear the hustle and exuberant chatter of the athletes, even from outside. 

In order to avoid any awkward interactions with the other athletes, you decide to stay near the end of the hall, a bit away from the doors. For now, you busy yourself with your phone, checking over social media accounts and sending texts to friends. Using your phone is honestly the best way to say “Don’t talk to me.” without going through the absolute hassle of having a conversation. Doesn’t work all the time. But you can’t win ‘em all. 

“Hey, hey, hey!” A loud, booming voice snaps you out of your concentration. Your gaze snaps upwards, forcing a smile on your face at the sight of Bokuto and Kuroo. Up close, they’re much bigger and maybe a little more intimidating. Or maybe you’re just jumpy. Or maybe you’re always ready to throw hands and kick ass if necessary. Maybe all of those things are right. Are you overthinking this?

“Hey,” You slide your phone back into your pocket, giving them a small smile. Should you be as haughty as possible? Rowdy? “It’s nice to meet you,” You introduce yourself proudly, crossing your arms with a roguish grin. “You were both really impressive.” 

“Nice to meet you! Kenma talks about you a lot!” Bokuto shoves forward, eyes unabashedly running up and down your body. The sudden invasion of space catches you off guard. Your eyes go wide and you find yourself trying to take a step back, even though your back is against the wall. Kuroo elbows him sharply in the side, prompting him to shuffle a few feet back with a pained grunt.

“Sorry about him,” The black-haired man drawls, “He gets too excited when he meets new people. I’m Kuroo Tetsurou. S’nice to make your acquaintance.”

“Stop using fancier words than me!” Bokuto huffs, turning back to you with a wide smile. “I’m Bokuto! Though, you probably already know me.” He waggles his eyebrows.

“Yeah, your reputation as a notorious loudmouth precedes you.” Kuroo drawls, posture growing more languid, lips curling into a provocative smirk. He leans heavily on Bokuto’s shoulder.

“Now you’re just using bigger words on purpose!” Bokuto shoots him a glare. “Anywaaays, Kenma said you wanted to learn about volleyball. We should totally play sometime! Doing is better than telling, right?” His excitement is contagious, and you find your mood lifting regardless of how you felt moments ago. 

“Eeeh,” Kuroo gave a skeptical noise, “As much as I agree, I don’t think playing volleyball is a good idea for a first date.” He teases, again causing Bokuto to pout. “Your spikes would probably rip her arms off, anyways.”

“Well, what do you suggest?” You finally pipe up, managing to get a word in. Their banter is constant and admittedly hilarious, but you have trouble interjecting and asserting yourself because of how… unfamiliar they are. As much as you want to stomp your foot down and declare your assertiveness, you don’t want to piss off Kenma’s friends. You decide to ignore the usage of the word “date”, hoping that he’s only kidding.

An almost feral gleam ignites in Kuroo’s eyes at your question, making a shiver roll down your spine.

“Leave it all to me.” Suddenly, you regret asking.

\------

“You know,” You say dryly, long past any anxiety, “I was worried that you were gonna take us to something… y’know…” Your words get muted out by the sound of a nearby rollercoaster and the loud, joyful screams of the riders. Gleeful children run back and forth, eager to play all the games and ride all the rides. 

“Ah, no,” Kuroo looks down at you with a small smile, “You’re Kenma’s friend, not mine, yet. So it’d be weird to take you on some wild adventure, I think,” It made sense, as awkward as he made it sound. For someone so tall, dark and handsome, Kuroo had a really homely personality. This was definitely how Kenma made him out to be. Kind of mischievous, but good at taking care of people. Not at all a “bad boy”. You can see why Kenma gets along so well with the guy. “I mean, unless you wanna go somewhere crazy. Bo and I know this really cool bar where they put eels in their shots, and sometimes you can see guys from the yakuza—”

“Alright. I’m gonna stop you right there,” You cut him off, “This is good. I like this. I haven’t been to an amusement park in a long time. So, thanks. I forgot how much I liked cotton candy.” Kuroo is kind of like a dad. But mischievous, too. A weird, but good balance of nurturing and weird. He’s hot, too. 10/10. You’d let him take care of of you when you got sick. He would probably make a mean bowl of chicken noodle soup… And then he’d wrap you in his big, strong arms. Hmm. Yeah. Good.

Bokuto, on the other hand…

“Hey, hey, hey!!” When you turn to look at him, he’s beaming, with a load of stuffed animals curled in his strong, thick arms. You’ve used the word “strong” a lot, today. But it’s true. They are strong. Strong can be a substitute for the word “sexy”, too. If anyone says otherwise, then they’re wrong. He’s like a big, buff owl. Or a puppy. Because he’s always excited and incredibly eager to please.

Bokuto comes to an abrupt halt, one of the stuffed animals tumbling out of his arms. In an instant, you snap your hand outward and catch it, lifting it up. It’s a cute, pink little dog with floppy ears and bead eyes. 

“Nice catch!” Bokuto’s posture stiffens, chest puffed out, letting you know he’s proud of himself and wants to be complimented. He must have about… four other stuffed prizes in his arms. One of them is a round pillow with a smiling cat face and triangle-shaped ears sewn to the top. You reach out and squeeze the top of it, “You can have it if you want! I have a bunch of others.” His tone is boastful. He’s probably fluffing his tail feathers to impress you, whether he realizes it or not. While you hate being an omega, you know that it comes with its advantages. Alphas wanting to cater to you and coddle you is one of those benefits.

“Good job.” You decide to indulge him. C’mon. He’s an incredibly sexy, muscular man who is also absolutely adorable. His expression lights up underneath your praise and you feel something within you coo in delight. 

“You do a good job of flattering the airhead,” Kuroo drawls. “Why don’t you save some of those compliments for me?” The way he’s speaking to you is awfully familiar, but it lets you know the level of comfort he has. You grab the round cat from Bokuto and cross your arms. Any intimidating effect you hope to have is likely dashed by the adorable plush animals you’re holding.

“I’ll compliment you when you do something impressive.” You drawl. Kuroo opens his mouth to give a sly retort, but he doesn’t get the chance. Bokuto grabs your arm and tugs you, causing your eyes to widen. Alarm jolted through your system, causing a sudden fear scent to jolt from your body. It was subdued enough that only the two alphas, being the closest to you, can likely pick it up. Lightning jolts through your system, making your stomach rumble with nausea. Your body jerks in the opposite direction out of instinct. Recognizing your distressed body language, Bokuto immediately releases your arm. 

“Bo!” Kuroo scolds, thwapping his friend on the head. 

Sure, the guy’s totally friendly, but you don’t know him that well. Not well enough to let him touch you, at least. Before you can try to reply, you realize that you’re out of breath, and you’re forced to understand that just him coming at you so fast scared you shitless. 

“Sorry!” Bokuto is quick to try and make amends, waving his hands in front of him as a gesture of surrender. A weary laugh forces itself out of your throat and you shake your head, wishing that all of this socialization shit came easier.

“No, no. It’s fine. You just startled me.” You’re glad that you’re on suppressants. If you hadn’t been, the sudden burst of fear pheromones could easily have attracted the attention of more than just the two closest to you. You’re suddenly hyper aware of everything around you. All the noises and scents and smells. Kuroo, for better or for worse, seems to catch onto this.

“You still don’t look so hot. You wanna go sit down?” You don’t. You just want to go about your day like this weird moment never happened. Despite that, you give a small nod and allow the two of them to escort you over to the bench.

The rest of the day fortunately passes with ease. Bokuto easily wins an army of stuffed animals, and Kuroo manages to convince you to get on one of the more extreme roller coasters with him. At some point, you were probably clinging to his arm. But like hell you’re going to acknowledge it. While you would have loved to stick around all day, you decide to head home at about 3, allowing them to walk you to the station. 

It’s on the short train ride home that it really hits you. You had a good time. The side of your head rests against the cool window as the scenery flies by, exhaustion settling in your limbs like lead. Your eyes narrow under the fluorescent lights, and you’re so tired that you feel like you’re not seeing even if you really are. Or maybe you’re seeing and not understanding what’s in front of you—the shapes of your hands, fingers fiddling and intertwining. In the back of your sleepy head, you’re admiring the ripple of Bokuto’s muscles and the low gentleness of Kuroo’s voice. 

You’re so fucked.

Bokuto’s big, doofy smile. Kenma’s quiet compassion. Kuroo’s broad shoulders.

You shut your eyes and wait for your stop to be called.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been 84 years...
> 
> If you like this content, be sure to check out my writing blog, which can be found [HERE](https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/). I'm usually a lil more active there and I post updates on what I'm doing.

"God, Kenma, stop being so good at video games!" The joysticks clack as Bokuto clumsily maneuvers them around, and Kenma has to resist the overwhelming temptation to roll his eyes. He hadn't planned on having an impromptu hangout session with Kuroo or Bokuto (much less Bokuto), but the two had showed up at his doorstep with his favorite snacks in hand. And really. How could he say no to blue raspberry twizzlers? Kuroo chortles from the opposite side of his room, digging in the drawer beside his desk for a pen. "Kuroo! C'mon! Help me out here! This guy totally has an unfair advantage! I need a handicap!"

"You should stop playing if you're gonna get so frustrated," Kenma says, coolly. With a simple button combination, his character grabs Bokuto's and decimates him with a series of flashy, over-the-top, sprite attacks. Watching the carnage has Bokuto wailing in despair next to him. Kenma's face twitches into a frown and he shuffles to the other side of the couch, unaccustomed to such obnoxious levels of noise. "Really. If you're gonna throw a tantrum, then you should turn it off."

"So cruel!" Bokuto huffs, but places his controller down on the coffee table in front of the couch, regardless. Kuroo peeks his head out from where he had been looking in the desk and gives Bokuto a leer.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Kenma's usually right about this kind of stuff. Besides, we had something we wanted to talk about," He stands to his full height and stretches his arms above his head. His shirt rides up with the motion and Kenma has trouble keeping his eyes off of the toned muscle that's suddenly exposed. Fortunately, Kuroo drops his arms to his side and ventures over to the couch, plopping between the two of them. 

"We wanted to talk about that omega friend of yours!" Bokuto exclaims. Kenma suddenly finds himself at a loss. To his knowledge, the "date" the two had taken you on went smoothly. Apart from one incident where you were startled by Bokuto's abrupt movements. But he couldn't blame you for that. Bokuto was a tough person to be around. Friendly, sure. Exhausting? Definitely. Especially to an introvert like him. He didn't hate Bokuto, but it was difficult to be around him for extended periods of time. Which was why Kuroo was so effective as a buffer. 

"A master of tact, as always," Kuroo rolls his eyes, "We wanted to ask about her, yeah. She seemed really uncomfortable with us, the other day. I mean, I know that Bo startled her that one time. But even before then." Kenma knows you don't like alphas, but he's not about to say that aloud. Instead, he opts to listen to the rest of what Kuroo has to say, only hoping that he won't ask any complicated questions. "Did she say anything to you after?"

Kenma thinks about how much you trust him. Kenma thinks about how much you don't trust alphas (whether they're some of his best friends or not). It's hard to balance out telling the utmost truth while keeping your secrets safe. Why can't they just ask you? (Because it'll probably intimidate you, he reasons with himself) All of this emotional labor sucks. He's always been in-tune with how others feel (however blunt he may be), but navigating the subtle intricacies is... hard. It's just hard to do. 

There's not much he can do while they're both looking at him, waiting for an answer. They both look concerned, more than anything. Which is a good sign, because it means they genuinely care about you and will (probably) try to apologize for whatever else they did. If anything at all.

"...Why don't you just ask her?" He tries to take the easy way out. 

"Because she'll probably get spooked, again!" Bokuto insists, "I already scared her once. I don't want to do that again." He's trying to be considerate and it grates on Kenma's nerves. Why does this have to be his problem? (Because he's the one who introduced you to them in the first place) 

"She... probably just doesn't feel safe, yet," Kenma reasons. He turns his gaze down to his phone (anything, anything to not make eye contact) and thinks it aloud, "I mean... a lot of omegas are told to be careful about alphas. Just in case alphas try to take advantage of them. I think something else happened to her, too, maybe? She seems to not like alphas more than other omegas do. I don't know why. She doesn't talk about herself, much." It's not really a good answer, "I think you should just be cautious. It's probably not anything you did."

"I have no problem with being subtle," Kuroo lolls his head against the back of the couch and hums, "It's Bo that we should be worried about." He teases with a sly grin. Kenma feels a slight prick of irritation, because he's joking even when they're discussing your mental state. Though, when did he get so protective of you? You can protect yourself just fine. He's seen you pull people into full-on headlocks, before. He shakes his head to clear those thoughts and continues to play with his phone, idly listening to the two squabble in the background, ignoring their rising volume. It's nothing new, really. Just listening to them can be tiresome. He doesn't have the patience for it. Maybe you would be better suited for such a daunting task. You're brave.

These developments are troubling to him. He's allowed to care this much about his friends, but something about the way he cares for you puts him on edge. 

Especially with Kuroo and Bokuto around. He doesn't know why. It's not like he's an alpha. Not like he feels the need to compete with either of them. (He's starting to.) 

No. It's not that at all.

A sudden thump to the left of him startles him away from his thoughts. Bokuto has Kuroo in a loose headlock, the two tussling on the floor. Kenma frowns at the rowdiness. 

"Ew," He says aloud, turning his gaze away from where Bokuto's shirt has wrinkled upwards, exposing his toned back. The two halt as he admonishes them, frozen in their awkward position. Kuroo's hand is shoved against Bokuto's cheek. One of Bokuto's hands is curled into Kuroo's shirt. "Go makeout somewhere else. You're disturbing the peace. Leave. Begone. I want nothing to do with this."

"I can't believe you're already kicking us out," Kuroo untangles himself from Bokuto and rises from the ground, hands on his hips, wearing a wry grin. "This must be a new record."

"Thirteen minutes and seven seconds," Bokuto remarks, looking somewhat awed. "We usually get to stay for about twenty." 

"Make sure to eat something good for dinner, tonight," Kuroo says, with a tenderness that makes Kenma feel warm and nervous, all at the same time. You talk to him a lot like Kuroo does, too. "See you tomorrow, Kenma."

He makes his way towards the door, Bokuto tailing behind him. Kenma wrinkles his nose in a distasteful expression and doesn't bother to look at either of them as they leave, the door shutting gently behind them. It's a relief that they're gone, as shitty as it sounds. The two of them are just so energetic, their presences so powerful that it drains him faster than playing volleyball ever will. Especially when they're both in his tiny little room. It gets suffocating, fast. Kenma stands and places his phone on the coffee table, heading over to turn off the Playstation. He tries to ignore the tangle of scents that cloud his room, and climbs onto his bed, opening the window to get some air in. 

Whatever is happening between you and them, is best left to the three of you. Even if they decide to romantically pursue you, it's better that way. He's just a beta. He can't satisfy you in the way they can. Can't satisfy them in the way you can. It'd be a feeble effort, regardless. He flops onto his side and curls up, his arm craning behind his head to undo his neat bun, allowing dark his hair to drop onto the pillow. 

His eyes squeeze shut and he wishes that all of these complicated, emotional problems would just go away, would just leave him alone. He has other things to focus on. Like school. Like getting into a good college. But he can't suppress the image of the three of you hanging out happily without him, and he can't stop how it makes his stomach churn nervously. 

\---

The docks are one of your favorite places to waste time. The smell of salt water combined with a cloudy sky soothes your spirit. The dampness in the air, foretelling of rain, warms your heart. The day's dreary atmosphere makes everything seem like it's moving slower than usual. It's a Saturday and you don't have to work, so why not bum around for a little while? You had planned to waste the day all on your own, but... Bokuto Koutarou had texted you shortly after arriving, insisting that you hang out.

You offered him to join you, wanting to appear as friendly as possible. Even though he had frightened you a few days ago, he was still a pretty good guy. Earnest. Trustworthy. Of course, you didn't actually expect him to accept your offer. But here you were, looking out to the water while he listed off things he did that week, telling you in excited detail about practice matches and the new food truck that seemed to linger around his campus quite a bit. 

It was easy to spend time with him b. Because he just kept going. Usually, you were the one who spoke the most because Kenma was a quiet guy. But Bokuto's presence demanded attention. He was a star, the center of the volleyball team, an alpha. 

Only when the conversation began to lull did you speak again.

"Sorry to make you come all the way down here." You remark, blinking your sleepy eyes. "To be honest, I didn't think you'd actually come?" Was that the right thing to say? You really weren't sure.

"It's fine," He hums, hands shoved into his pockets, "I dunno why you're hanging out down here when nothing is happening, but I really don't mind! I wanted to spend more time with you," It's a pure and genuine sentiment, one that makes your cheeks grow warm. Fuck, how is this guy so cute? "I think we got off on the wrong foot, the other day." You blink at that. Really? He was still worrying about that?

"It's okay," You reassure him right back, raising your eyebrows, trying to find the right spot between arrogance and humility. "I was too easy to spook, really. It's all good. I'm not usually like that." Complete lies. You were wary of alphas because you were raised to fervently fear them. Your mother's frantic teachings still rung in your ears. Bokuto's gaze was unreadable, expression concerned. He didn't look or act like the intelligent type. But you could tell that he was thinking deeply. Was he thinking deeply about you? Was he trying to read you? 

He was unpredictable. 

Unpredictable means that you don't have complete control over the interaction. He also doesn't look like he believes you, either. And you don't like that. You turn your gaze away from him and look out into the bay, listening to the waves crash against the piers. Maybe if you stand here long enough, he'll just leave. Not that he's a bad guy, but you're unsure if you can reach out and leave your comfort zone. Besides, it's not your responsibility to disclose your deepest fears to someone you've only met once before (and exchanged a few text conversations with). 

"I mean, as long as you're sure," hHe hums. "Just tell me if I'm doing something wrong." It's not often that people try to accommodateaccomodate your jumpiness, so you appreciate it. Regardless, your pride isn't about to let you admit that there's something wrong, that you're feeling scared. Because that's exposing weakness. And you've spent your entire life trying to kill off everything inside of you that you don't like, sensitivity included. It's difficult, because Googling "how to not have emotions" can only get you so far. 

"Thanks." You nod, feeling more tense than before. Bokuto continues to stand at your side and you have to wonder why. Isn't he bored yet? You try to sneak a subtle glance, but the moment you do, you're locked into his piercing, golden gaze. Feeling your cheeks grow warm, you tear your gaze away, not noticing how he smiles at your reaction. 

\---

You're cute, Bokuto thinks to himself. He knows that you probably wouldn't like to hear him say that. But it's an inevitable truth, something you can't run from. He doesn't have any idea why you're so tense when all he's trying to do is reassure you. And he's well aware that you're tense. He may seem dense to most people he interacts with, but over the years he's developed a keen intuitiveness when it comes to reading body language. He knows how to read enemy blockers, knows how to closely observe the setter to see who they're going to set to. Volleyball isn't real life, but it's helped him see the subtle intricacies of body language. Your shoulders are squared more than they were, yesterday. There's a small dent in between your eyebrows, threatening the neutrality of your expression.

He doesn't know how to fix the awkwardness in the air, but then he remembers something Kenma said about you in passing.

"There's a fish market down the block," He clears his throat and says. You like window shopping, especially when it comes to weird or exotic stores. Kenma had an entire story about how you spent ten minutes perusing the peanut butter section of some weird grocery store downtown. "I was thinking of getting something from there. Do you want to come?" He gives you another wide smile, hoping it'll soothe your nerves. It might be impossible, but he wants you to feel comfortable around him.

“Sure,” You nod and turn to him with a small smile. He feels like this is a step forward. “We going now?”

“If you wanna.”

A moment’s pause, a nod.

“Yeah, sure.”

The streets near the bay are quiet, with the hustle and bustle of the city growing the closer you get to the market. How do you feel about crowds? He knows that Kenma doesn’t like them. Are you the same? He sneaks a glance back at you and notices that you’re having trouble keeping up. He wordlessly slows his pace. He knows that you don’t want an apology. You’re difficult to get a ready on, but he feels like you’re self-conscious about it. In volleyball, being short is considered a weakness. He thinks that most other people think of it like that, too. 

And he’s noticed you like to hide your weaknesses. You still refuse to admit that he frightened you the other day. Are you compensating for being an omega? Are you ashamed of it?

“I’m so glad I’m off on Tuesday,” You say, sounding relieved. “It’s always less crowded everywhere.”

“Crowds usually don’t bother me, but I can get that,” He shoots you a small smile. Do you not like being an omega? Do you not like yourself? It’s hard for him to understand, because of his confidence (immeasurable) and the people surrounding him (supportive, loving). It breaks his heart to think that you don’t like who you are. “What kind of fish do you like?”

He hums at your answer, struggling to think of a topic that would grab your interest.

“Bokuto-san, I have a question about volleyball,” Fortunately, you break the silence. His gaze immediately swivels back to you, a wide grin brimming on his face.

“Go ahead! I’m a master at volleyball—did Kenma tell you that I’m the ace on our team? ‘Cause I am!” Again, he flaunts tailfeathers. It’s hard to resist the instinctual tug he feels, a desperate desire to impress you. “Ask away!”

The two of you stroll into the market a moment after, the crowds thin as it’s a work or school day for most people. He sticks close to your side, allowing you to take the lead. Your gaze roams along the various booths as you speak to him.

“Okay, so when you’re in a match, and making calls, the team you’re up against can hear you. And that helps them read your moves, right?”

“Uh-huh! It gets really aggravating,” Bokuto nods enthusiastically, honestly just overjoyed that you want to talk to him about volleyball. You bump against someone’s shoulder as you walk down the aisle. The surly-looking stranger scowls and opens his mouth, likely to scold you, but rethinks that course of action as Bokuto shoots him a menacing glare over your head. Don’t you dare. The man ducks his head and scrambles away, a wise choice. When you turn to look back at Bokuto, he’s smiling again.

“So, I was thinking—what if you made calls in a different language? Like Dutch or something? Kenma said that’d be cheating, but I think he was just being a sourpuss.” You start to walk again, fascinated gaze roaming over various fish tanks. 

“Oooh! That’s a great idea! I don’t think there’s a rule against it or anything!” Crafty, kind of like something Daishou would cook up. Bokuto likes it. He also likes how comfortable you’re getting around him. 

“I know, right!?” You give a wider smile and he feels his heart pound hard in his chest. It’s hard to suppress the joy that swells within him, “It’s definitely not cheating ‘cause it’s so much work to learn a different language. Right?”

“Mhm!” He nods enthusiastically. “Do you speak any other languages?”

“English.” You say. The two of you come to a halt in front of a lobster cage. You crouch slightly to get a good look at them. Bokuto would love to admire how cute your fascination is, but the pose you’re in pushes your ass out in a way that he can’t ignore. He manages to tear his gaze away when you stand up straight, looking at a different stand in the market.

“Wanna get takoyaki?” You turn to look at him and he nods, feeling the warmth on his cheeks begin to subside.

“Sure!” He smiles again and follows you through the market.

It’s hard to believe that he’s only known you for two days, because you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger. Somehow, he doesn’t think that’s a bad thing.

\---

Your eyes strain as you absentmindedly watch pixelated characters beat the crap out of each other on Kenma’s television. Admittedly, you expected his invitation to come over, but you hadn’t expected Kuroo to be there. As much as you want to feel at ease, you can’t escape the knowledge of what he is, and the numbing fear that accompanies it. Had you grown up in a better place, maybe you wouldn’t be so tense. You sit on the floor, back leaned against the side of Kenma’s bed.

“I heard that you went to get takoyaki with Bokuto,” Kuroo shoots a glance over his shoulder, giving you a sly smile while the loading screen processes. As soon as the match started, he turns away. You hate the relief that you feel when he isn’t looking at you—hate the self-consciousness that lingers. It’s weak, a part of you that you want dead and gone.

“I did.” You look down to your phone, busying yourself with a random app.

“He behaved himself, right?” Your grip on your phone tightens.

“It was fine.” You don’t see Kenma elbow Kuroo sharply, don’t hear Kuroo’s hushed apology.

You don't talk to Kuroo again until two hours later, when Kenma finally kicks you out. Initially, you're relieved to be out of the alpha's company, as shitty as that probably sounds. You say a brief goodbye and tell him to text you later, and head down the sidewalk, eager to get home and... do whatever. Maybe you'll take a nice bath and light candles. The idea of that has always sounded very mature to you, something a working adult would do. 

Because even though you're both working and an adult, you kind of don't feel like it. It feels like you're the same person you've always been. Is that good or bad? You're not sure, but you don't get to think on it any further, because Kuroo is jogging up to you, telling you to wait up. You do so out of politeness, because he's Kenma's friend and you don't want to fuck up anything between the two. This is why it's so hard to actually have friends.

"Sorry if I made it awkward, earlier." Is the first thing he says, and you wish he would just drop it. It's hard to not open your mouth and just say whatever you'd like, as you always do. 

"It's fine. I just wish you would drop it," It's still kind of rude, but it's a curbed version of what you would have said, had he not been someone important. "I was surprised, is all. It's not anyone's fault. Bokuto-san and I are just fine." 

"Yeah, I guess so," He exhales and thankfully leaves it alone. He walks beside you for several, silent minutes. The atmosphere is stifling and you feel your temper begin to ignite with each step. It's not his fault, you tell yourself. He has no idea who you are. He's only hung out with you twice, and this time hardly counted. He cared enough to ask you how Bokuto's behavior was. You were more frustrated with yourself than with anyone else. "Do you want to hang out this weekend?" Is his next question, and you don't know why that surprises you.

It's hard to accept that other people can actually be interested in you.

"Huh? Oh, sure," It's a struggle to say "yes" when you don't like alphas that much. But you know your doubts (your fear) is irrational. Hanging out with alphas is the next logical step in fixing that issue. It'll be hard, especially if your mother finds out about it. She's on the opposite side of the city, so you don't have to worry about avoiding her. "What do you want to do?"

"I'm up for anything," Kuroo says. "I mean, if you want to leave it up to me, that's fine, too. There's supposed to be a carnival in Shibuya this week. Or we could go to Shinjuku, one night." You dislike the idea of going out with an unfamiliar alpha at night, but you know you can trust him because Kenma trusts him.

"The carnival sounds good. We can get as much shitty fair food as we want," You remark wryly, covering up your doubts with sly jokes. "Just don't cry when I beat you at all the games, okay?"

"Please. I've been training for my entire life with Kenma. We would go to the arcade every weekend during high school." Kuroo teases right back.

"And did you ever beat him?" You raise an eyebrow, making sure he knows how unimpressed you are. Playing video games with Kenma is one thing, but actually trying to get good at them and beat him is another.

"Well, no," He frowns. "But—"

"No buts," You cut him off. It feels like you're finally starting to take the power back in this conversation, and that's something you don't want to let go of (You should probably stop viewing every interaction as some sort of struggle for power). You're going to talk back at every opportunity, like you've done for your entire life. "If you haven't beat him, then I clearly have nothing to worry about." 

“Anyways,” You say before he can offer any kind of retort, “How about this weekend? Saturday, Sunday? I come around in the evening if you’d like?” 

You can see your apartment building growing nearer in the distance and suddenly, you feel much wearier than you did before. Interacting with people is so draining, especially people you kind of want to impress, especially if you hate the fact that you actually want to impress Kuroo Tetsurou. It’s a biological thing. It has to be. You start to list off a monumental amount of excuses in your head, the noise of your thoughts growing and growing as you walk down the street.

“Yeah,” He says, and that’s all it takes for your attention to be on him again, painfully aware. “How about Saturday at six? Let’s go to dinner, my treat.” It isn’t a date in any way, shape of form, but it still makes your heart rate spike. Your heart thumps in your throat and you manage a nod as the two of you reach your building, thanking the lord above.

“Yeah…” You echo. “Thanks, Kuroo-san.” You dare to glance up to him.

“No problem,” He’s sporting a smile that makes you go all funny inside. “I’ll text you later—” He doesn’t even get to finish that statement before you break into a full run, scurrying inside the lobby. You don’t see him start to continue down the block, don’t see the bewilderment on his face turn into a self-satisfied smile.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this content, be sure to check out my writing blog, which can be found [HERE](https://owlespresso.tumblr.com/). I'm usually a lil more active there and I post updates on what I'm doing.

Kenma likes it when you visit. Having people in his house (in his room) has always strained him. It’s not to say that he hates it, but he can only take so much of Kuroo and Bokuto wrestling in his room, filling it with their loudness and alpha scents. You’re different, though. You’re not like that.

“What’re you doing?” He sits at the kitchen island, gaze darting between you—standing at his sink, and the game he’s playing on his phone.

“Making lemonade!” You say in between grunts, fighting with the juicer. A bowl full of lemons, sliced in half, sits next to the sink alongside a pitcher.

“Do you need help?” Kenma knows you don’t like that question (it’s a strange pride thing that he’s too afraid to ask about) but he doesn’t feel right about not asking.

“Nah,” You hum, mashing one of the slices with some sort of kitchen gadget. He follows the flow of the juice down into the large measuring cup you’ve prepared, a strainer catching the pulp and seeds. “Though you can taste-test when I’m done.”

He hums in acknowledgement. It’s a nonchalant reply, but he really likes the idea that you’ve gone out of your way to make something for him. (Though he doesn’t really know if it’s just for him.) You’re at the stage in your friendship when you can just show up at his door with a bag full of lemons saying “I need to use your kitchen.” and it’s completely normal.

“Why’re you making lemonade?” He asks, fingers nimbly tapping at the screen.

“Summer’s coming up,” You declare. You don’t see the displeased face he’s making because your back is still turned to hum. Summer is hot, muggy and disgusting. He can’t wear sweaters or the color black without overheating. Sure, the sun is out much later, but it really isn’t worth all the bugs that are around. He knows that Kuroo and Bokuto will drag him on some vacation or trip, and he’ll be covered in bites by the end of it.

“So?” He quips.

“So, it’s festive,” you respond, “Making lemonade, picking berries, going to the beach… stuff like that is all summer-y.” You pour the measuring cup full of juice into the pitcher, moving over to the stove. You reach to one of the cabinets above and barely manage to reach a saucepan (he could’ve gotten that for you, he thinks to himself). As you carry it over to the sink, a calm silence settles over the kitchen. His thoughts roam over the last few weeks while his numb gaze remains fixed on the game.

He’s noticed that you’re getting closer to Bokuto and Kuroo. Not by much. The changes are slight, but they’re still there. He sees it in the way that Bokuto face lights up at the mention of your name. In the midst of it all, he regrets ever sending you to meet them. He knows it’s selfish, but he feels like you’re leaving him behind. You’ve gone out of your way to emphasize that your omega status makes no difference, but he can’t help it. He’s painfully aware that you have two alphas that are interested in you and he’s only a beta. He’s grown up being told that he can’t give you what they can, but he doesn’t want to let go. He wants to tether himself to you in any way he can.

He wants to know things about you that no one else does.

He attracts your attention with a simple call of your name.

“Where are your parents, usually?” The question escapes him before he can stop it, motivated by both genuine curiosity and a frantic need to know you deeper than the competition. His heart sinks as you stay silent, and each awkward second feels like another knife between his ribs.

“I’m sorry—” He begins.

“No, it’s alright,” You assure him. “I trust you and want you to know. I just need some time to get my shit together.”

He swallows, so incredibly grateful that you’re not mad, and that your friendship hasn’t been jeopardized by an invasive question he asked on a whim.

“Yeah, take your time.” He nods shakily, looking back to his phone as though for reassurance. Another five minutes of silents passes as you fiddle with the saucepan.

“Are you going to get Monster Hunter for PC?” You ask, and the tightness in his chest vanishes in an instant.

* * *

 

Camellias in vivid colors, twisted into a wreath, strewn haphazardly onto a casket of murky purple. Their colors and shades shift and churn and it looks like the galaxy. You’re not sure why, but you don’t wonder, don’t ask.. Your knuckle brush against the smooth, cool surface and your breath seizes in your lungs.

You shut your eyes and open them. The world shutters around and and suddenly, there’s white ceilings and floors and people in white coats who are smiling. Just the sight of them makes your blood boil in aggravation and you don’t know why, but you desperately, desperately want to know.

“Congratulations.” It rings in your ears as your brothers smile, and the doctors say it over and over again as if they’re mocking you. It echoes off the wall and bounces off your skull, making you shatter with pain. Your heels click against the floor as you rush forward with an enraged scream, but you stumble and fall and you’re swallowed by the floor, thrown into a black chasm. The air twines and howls around you, and your eyes shut as you long to hit the ground.

Your eyes are open and you’re back under the covers, body covered in cold sweat. The gross feeling makes you cringe. The blankets crumple to the floor when you throw them aside. Your apartment is still swathed in darkness, and you stumble your way to the bathroom, eyes blurry.

A distant, but frustrated rage sears within you at your interrupted sleep. Seriously, can’t you manage to get just one night of good rest? You know you shouldn’t but you stew in that anger until you come out of the shower. You wince at the chill when you walk out of the bathroom and back into your apartment. The air conditioner still rumbles steadily in the corner. After changing into a new set of pajamas, you plop back into bed. But is there really any point? You wonder. Will you even be able to fall back asleep? Regardless, you lay back against the pillows and grab your phone from the nightstand.

4 AM. You don’t need to be up for another five hours.

  
This sucks. It really sucks. You debate on lying back an shutting your eyes or getting up to continue your English essay, but neither open appeals to you. Instead, you narrow your eyes against the fluorescent screen of your phone. It stings, but you bear it for the sake of aimlessly scrolling through your apps. Minutes go by as you browse, occasionally looking up at the ceiling, hoping time will magically pass faster and only slow down once you’ve reached a happier, more content place in your life.

Your phone vibrates in your hand and your eyebrows furrow as you look down at it. You don’t get an abundance of messages to start with, so who the fuck is texting you at the lord’s hour of 4 in the morning?

Bokuto Koutarou.

He’s wordlessly sent you a picture of a lobster plush. The ridiculousness of it makes you smile, but you hesitate to actually send a reply. Starting a conversation means you’ll just feel awkward later on, when you eventually forget to reply and then just avoid him after you remember. Because you’ll be embarrassed and afraid he’s mad at you. Your head lolls back against the pillows and your eyes shut. You don’t know how to exist when every small interaction has the potential to stress you out.

You open your eyes and almost unconsciously, you start to type up a reply.

After all, you don’t have to be up for another five hours.

* * *

 

Pale evening hangs over the city by the time you meet Kuroo at the carnival. Whether you’d ever admit it or not, you spent about an hour preparing to meet him. Not because you want to impress him, or anything. But rather because you forgot to do your laundry and were busy judging which garments were safe to wear or not.

He smiles when he greeted you at the gates, paid for both tickets (despite your fervent protesting) and has all around just been a complete gentleman.

The overjoyed screams of children don’t annoy as much as they usually do, but you still shy away from the bigger, harsher noises. You tend to change which side of Kuroo you’re walking with, but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything. You’re not one for crowded places because of how many sounds and scents there are. Though, at least this crowd doesn’t seem to have too many alphas in it. Being an omega sucks (for many reasons) because you’re more perceptive to smells than most others.

“Are you suuuure you don't wanna go on The Zipper?” Kuroo teases at your side, pointing to what has to be one of the shadiest looking carnival rides you’ve ever seen. It’s like a makeshift ferris wheel, but oval shaped and the carts flip upside down as they’re propelled up and down in the air.

“Absolutely not,” You elbow him lightly. “It’s a disaster waiting to happen.” He hums in acknowledgement as the two of you continue you way through the crowd.

“Yeah, you strike me as more of a merry-go-round kind of gal, anyways.” A coy smile flits across his face and your face burns. He beckons over to the aforementioned ride and you make a big show of rolling your eyes at him. The way he talks to you kind of makes you feel warm inside (you don’t like the feeling), and you guess showing your annoyance in heavily exaggerated ways makes you feel safer.

“Shut up,” You scoff at him. While you want to maintain distance, you also don’t want to be rude to him, so you make sure to know that you’re (mostly) teasing him. You stay close to his side, eyes lighting up at the sight of a refreshments booth. Shitty carnival treats is probably your favorite out of the essential food groups. Churros, takoyaki, taiyaki, snow cones. “...Wanna get some ice cream?”

“Sure.” The two of you change course for the stand and you spot his hand reaching towards his pocket, likely going to grab his wallet again. Instinctively, you reach out and grab his wrist.

You freeze as his surprised gaze lands on you, a feeling of awkward shame causing your face to burn.

“I’ll pay, this time.” You insist, pulling your hand away slowly. Fortunately, he nods and gives you a small, reassuring smile. He doesn’t say anything aloud, but you can tell that he’s being careful with you. It’s considerate of him to mind your aversion to touch.

Five minutes later has the two of you standing by the booth, licking at individual cones.

“You don’t strike me as a vanilla kind of guy.” You jibe, and he snorts.

“I’ll have you know I make up for it with my incredible passion.” He drawls, wiggling his eyebrows. There’s a spot of vanilla ice cream on his chin that he doesn’t seem to have noticed, thwarting any attempt he’s made to look cool. Honestly, you’ve heard people fawn over him before, but they really don’t seem to know that this guy is such a fucking nerd.

“Uh-huh,” You say skeptically, because you can’t think of anything witty to reply with. You gnaw down the last bits of your cone and try to not feel so proud when Kuroo gapes at you, because he’s hardly halfway finished. “I’m glad to see that you take a long time to finish.” He chokes around a mouthful of vanilla ice cream and you laugh.

What a dork.

Of course, he’s also a gentleman who tries to pay for everything. He’s been kind and considerate of your boundaries, which is a really fucking low bar, but you can’t not notice it. He’s a good guy, easy to joke around with. Definitely the kind of person you could see yourself dating.

But no, you rebuke that thought immediately as he finally gets down to the cone. He says something but you don’t really hear it, because you’re too busy internally insisting that you don’t have time to date, and you don’t really like alphas, anyways. You don’t need anyone.

Memories stutter through your head like an old-timey film. Tears, white lab coats, angry yelling, a hospital ward. Relationships bring all of these. You don’t need that.

You just don’t need anyone. Not at all—

Kuroo says your name and you’re brought back into reality. The sights and smell and sounds of the carnival serve to ground you. His hand is slightly outstretched near your shoulder, but he’s not touching you.

“Are you alright?” He’s finished with his cone. You blink several times and shake your head as though to clear your thoughts, before giving him the most relaxed smile you can manage.

“Yeah. Just spaced out.” Your explanation is weak and he doesn’t seem too convinced, but he also doesn’t pry. Good. Nosy alphas are the worst kind of alphas. No one else can help you fix your problems but you. Kuroo is a good guy, sure. But he doesn’t deserve to be burdened by your emotional baggage.

The evening progresses calmly from there. You ride a few more, shitty rides, and learn more about Kuroo. His favorite food is grilled salted mackerel pike. His hair is constantly… like that because he sleeps with two pillows pressed against either side of his head. His birthday is November 17th. He likes to make shitty doodles while in class, and Kenma once punched him in the arm for a particularly-incriminating one. You ask him what the doodle was, but he gets nervous and refuses to tell you, as though afraid that Kenma will materialize out of the air and strike him if he spills the details.

A half-an-hour later has you liking him more and standing in front of a high-striker while he flexes his arms while you wait in line with him.

“Bokuto is beefier.” You say blatantly and he splutters, outraged, eyes growing wide.

“I’m well aware!” He insists, dropping his arms to his side, “Bokuto’s arms are pretty perfect but mine are nothing to scoff at, y’know? To think, you’d judge me so harshly over my lack of muscle,” In a sudden movement, he brings his arm up against and flexes his bicep in front of you. “My lack of muscle, which is still more muscle than the average guy has. Wanna feel em?” For someone who has claimed to be humble in the past, he has no issue flaunting his tail feathers at you.

“Alright, alright.” You give in, but you don’t reach forward no matter how tempting it is. Before he can pester you more about it, you give him a light nudge forward because it’s his turn. You stand to the side while you watch him take the hammer.

He really is pretty good-looking, though. You can kind of see the muscles of his back and shoulders strain against his tight-fitting, black T-shirt. And his arms are really nothing to scoff at, you notice as he raises the hammer up. There’s a glint in his eye as it sails through the air and strikes the target. You watch as the puck sails through the air, the levels of the high striker lighting up as it goes. The bell at the top rings out triumphantly and a few passerby turn to look at the vivid, gleaming tower. You’re stunned in place, for a few moments, before you start to scold yourself.

You really should’ve expected this. You watch as the attendee hands him a big, stuffed cat. He waltzes over to you, and you know he’s looking as smug as possible on purpose. But you can’t find it in you to tease him when he dumps the black cat in your arms, giving you a wide, genuine smile.

“How was that?” He inquires, wiggling his eyebrows. As much as you want to be, you aren’t disgruntled by it.

“Nice.” You say after a moment of deliberating. You look away from his face, feeling your cheeks begin to grow warm. “Thanks.”

You have a new stuffed animal to add to the collection.

You’ll put it next to the ones Bokuto won for you.

* * *

 

Two in the morning really isn’t a good time to go out alone, which is why you have Kenma with you. After coming home exhausted from the carnival, sleep still evaded you. You tried everything you could, from breathing exercises to just closing your eyes and trying as hard as possible to relax. At one in the morning, you texted Kenma and received an immediate reply.

You’re blessed to have him, really.

The two of you have been aimlessly strolling around the neighborhood for about five minutes in complete silence. Not that you mind. The quiet you experience with Kenma is always comfortable. It’s reassuring to know that you don’t need to constantly be talking to keep the atmosphere from getting awkward.

“How did it go with Kuroo?” He inquires, hands in his pockets. You startle at the question, because you hadn’t told him about it. Where had that come from? You swallow nervously and think up a quick, mindless reply.

“It went well,” You nod, keeping your attention straight ahead of you. “Did Kuroo-san tell you?”

“Yeah.” Kenma nods. He doesn’t seem angry or anything, but you know that he’s good at hiding his emotions when he wants to. You’re not sure how to approach the situation. Should you assure him that it was just a friendly outing? Though, that wouldn’t really make sense. You can’t cheat on him because you’re not dating in the first place. You feel your fingers twitch at your sides as you think it over, but he speaks again, before you can even draw a solid conclusion. “It’s fine. I’m glad you’re getting along with them.”

Had your feelings been that obvious to him? Or has he just gotten better at reading you? It scares you. Being unpredictable creates a certain kind of distance between you and other people, because it means they don’t know you, don’t understand you. It’s that distance that helps you feel safe and in control.

It bothers you, but you don’t say anything. It’s really not his problem. All of these issues are your own. He’s not responsible for your weird insecurities.

You just keep walking gaze, fixed on the ground. The next few moments pass silently until you hear a loud voice on the other side of the street.

“Hey there, pretty lady!” Your gaze snaps up and something inside you begins to fume. A group of four young men are leaned up against the wall, one of them is crouching and the other holds a glass bottle in his hand. Your lip curls into a snarl immediately. “Give us a smile!”

You’ve been catcalled enough that you don’t hesitate to get angry, anymore. During your younger years, your anger would bubble slowly and hesitantly. Maybe because you were always told that you had to be patient with people, that the ideal omega was demure. You find it much more satisfying to give into that fiery rage, because the feeling of your knuckles against someone else’s nose is much more satisfying than “being the bigger person”.

Kenma lightly nudges you with his elbow, likely intending to remind you to move along, that starting a fight here wouldn’t be worth it. There are four of them. You’re confident that you can take at least three of them out, given they didn’t don’t formal training or anything. Your lead pipe is still tucked into your jacket, a comforting reminder.

“Aw, c’mon!” Another cries out, dismayed. “You’re going with a beta?” Kenma immediately grabs your elbow, before you can charge across the empty street. You keep going, but your face burns with anger and your pulse thrums with restrained rage. They all look high-school aged, but that wouldn’t stop you from beating them to an inch of their lives. They continue to call out and berate you, but their words just muddle together as you stop listening.

You’re not sure what sparks it, but Kenma turns his head sharply and bears his teeth at them. A snarl rips across the air and it causes your blood pressure to spike.

The noise, low and feral, makes your blood go cold. Your hands instantly get clammy. The alphas grow quiet and Kenma moves his hand from your elbow and presses it into the small of your back, urging you forward. For once, you just do what he wants you to, offering no objection or protest. The two of you head down the street and loop around, heading back towards your apartment building.

It takes a few minutes for the numbness to go away. You pass by silent houses and walk under street lights. The occasional car thrums down the pavement, passed you both.

You hate that he protected you. It’s childish, but you can’t help it. Of course, you can’t get mad at him. But you hate, hate, hate all of this. You can handle yourself. You don’t need anyone else, not an alpha to protect you, not even a beta.

“Are you alright?” Kenma’s voice pierces through the silence. A feeling like relief bubbles inside you, because he sounds like himself again. You’ve never heard a beta make a noise like that before. You still find it hard to believe that he got so aggressive. Passive Kenma, who avoids eye contact with most strangers and dislikes being in large crowds. Kenma, who was worried you were mad at him for asking a personal question.

“I’m fine.” You don’t have to look at him to know he’s skeptical. You just let him lead you back down to your apartment complex, the atmosphere still heavy.

“Thank you.” You say to him when you reach the front steps. You know he’s about to turn away and leave, you know he’ll say “no problem” or something to that effect. But the encounter will still weigh on his mind because you weren’t completely honest with him. “Kenma,” You say, and he freezes mid-turn, looking back at you with wide, amber eyes. They’re different than before. It’s like he’s looking straight through you. It gives you a strange, searing feeling that you’ve never felt before. Your cheeks start to warm. “I’m not mad or anything, really. Thank you for caring about me enough to… do that.”

His expression changes to a smile and his eyes close with it. Your stomach still churns.

“You’re welcome.” He says, and it sounds like he’s soothing you.

When he walks back down the street, you stay on the stairs. You don’t walk back inside until he disappears around the corner.

* * *

It’s 3 AM when your phone buzzes. You immediately open it, and you hate the fleeting hope that rises inside of you. You shouldn’t be longing for Bokuto to text you back.

Still, you would’ve much preferred it to the name that popped up on the screen.

_Mom_


End file.
